


Through his Eyes I

by Evaldrynn



Series: Fǫruneyti [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Chapter 2 and 3 of Fǫruneyti from Loki's point of view, F/M, First Meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 13:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn
Summary: Fǫruneyti commissionChapter 2 and 3 of Fǫruneyti from Loki's point of view.This is canon in the story!





	Through his Eyes I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zeldadragondraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadragondraco/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fǫruneyti](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10937811) by [Evaldrynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn). 



> Thank you so much for commissioning me! ♡ ♡ ♡

He awoke to light filtering through the arched windows, the smell of food making his stomach twist and growl. His body had needed the rest but his mind had kept protesting, had kept fighting; the familiar nightmares had, as always, tormented him during his recovery. Sometimes he had lain between reality and slumber, catching words and sounds of those close-by but never really able to understand it all. Sometimes he had been fast asleep and begging himself to wake. 

He hated it, he hated it more than anything - but he would have had to endure it much longer if it hadn't been for that village girl. 

It was obvious you had used magic. Your energy had forced his cells to multiply, to close the deepest part of the cuts and stop the bleeding. You had healed him; and he knew that if you hadn't, he may not have made it through the night. 

A soft groan slipped from his throat as he moved his legs off the bed and assessed his situation. Bandages covered the two wounds, but he could feel the severity. You must have continued to heal him after his consciousness had left. It would take him less than four days to heal this on his own, even sooner once his both his energy sources had been replenished – but perhaps it was better to let it heal naturally: he had been careless using so much of his magical energy on this journey already.

His thoughts had started to form questions, however. Healing was quite a difficult division of magic that cost the user a lot of energy, and he had to admit that not even he was too skilled at it. Then again, he had not needed to use it too often in his life: he had focused on not getting injured in the first place. He still blamed himself for allowing that piece of bandit scum to come close enough to wound him. 

He pushed himself off the bed and tested if his legs would hold. They did. Then he glanced around to scan for the girl; but the dormitory was filled with men only – men who would prefer not to have had him healed at all if they had had that option – and their presence alone was enough to irk him. Perhaps you were in the kitchen; and if you were not, he could at least fill his stomach and be away from the spiteful glares of Thor's idiotic dogs. 

Yet when he reached the entryway to the kitchen he was satisfied to see you were there. 

He leaned against the doorpost, studying your back with squinted eyes, waiting for you to turn around and spot him. And only when you did – he had to keep himself from smiling when you slapped your hand over your mouth to prevent yelping – he spoke up. 

“You used magic.” 

“You should still be resting!” You rushed over to him but stopped when he gave you a warning glance. “Please, sir Loki, return to the dormitory. I will bring you something to eat.” 

Irritation began to rise in his core. _Sir_ Loki? He left the support of the wooden frame and strode towards you, stopping only inches away; his voice a dangerous, poisonous hiss. “How dare you address me like that, village girl.”

But to his surprise his intimidation did not work as well as he had hoped: merely a shiver made goosebumps rise to your skin. No tears, not even fear in your eyes. No – instead you rose your chin and responded with polite confidence. 

“Then correct me, sir. What should I address you as?”

A feisty one, apparently. One who perhaps had not heard of the rumours and myths about The Trickster, The Serpent, or whatever other title they may have given him. This could be fun. 

“That would be _'prince'_.” 

He watched the emotions flash through your eyes and across your face. Confusion, disbelief, realisation, acceptance, dread. More confusion. Then, as he had expected, you apologised – using the correct title this time. 

“My apologies, prince Loki. But please, return to the dormitory. I will warm up the broth and inspect your wounds.” 

Though he had expected the apology he couldn't have predicted the command, especially not right after you had learned how his status towered over yours. Despite your unexpected answers you were still an easy target, however, and he chuckled darkly. 

“A country girl commanding a prince? I do not know if I should admire your courage or loathe your stupidity.” 

He could see a spark of irritation in your eyes, which only caused his wolfish grin to grow. But the response you gave-

“A healer commanding a patient who would have died without her help. I kindly ask of you to sit down and take off your bandaging before you rip open my work and get an infection.” 

It was degrading, insulting, and once more commanding; completely ignoring the difference in status and title. It caught him by surprise – so much so, that when you set a step forward, he set one back to give you space. Only when you turned to walk past him did he snap out of it and grab your wrist. 

His blood began to boil and he opened his mouth to hiss a threat, but your eyes stopped him. 

Little, golden flakes decorated your irises, and for a moment he was stuck between admiring their beauty and wondering their cause. He had never seen anything like it. Sure, Heimdall had fully golden eyes, but this... This was different. He could see so much in your eyes, a well of energy and power that may very well equal his own – but different. He didn't fully understand what he saw.  
Your magic touched his and pulled him from his daze, his own magical energy reacting to yours; trying to pull it closer, to merge. 

“You possess magic.” 

Your eyes were locked with his but just like him your focus was on the intimate feeling of his magic intertwining with yours. It felt slightly different, too, from anything he had experienced before – not his mother's magic nor that of anyone else he had met could truly compare. 

“What are you?” He searched your eyes as if they would betray the answer. 

“Just a village girl.” You lay your free hand on his and squeezed softly. “I need to take a look at your wounds.” 

He let go but kept your gaze for a few moments more, his mind racing at full speed. Nothing that made sense presented itself. So he gave up – for now – and moved to the chair beside the fire. Saying you were persistent was an understatement, yet somehow he could respect it; if only a tiny bit. Not everyone, or rather, no one dared to speak to him, let alone in such a direct and dangerous way, especially when they knew of all the things he had done. All the horrible things he was, and the good things he certainly wasn't. Even without that knowledge his glares, pose, and threats would usually keep them at bay. But you... You had seemed convinced that he wouldn't be able to hurt you. Not until he had grabbed your wrist, at least. 

He took the bowl you handed him and started on the broth, which wasn't even too bad. Quite the opposite, if he had to be honest. It was just what his body needed, and as he looked down at how you arranged your things he saw the bags under your eyes. Had you rested at all between moments of taking care of everyone? All the men's wounds had been treated and bandaged when he had awoken, and all of them had seemed well-fed. He hadn't seen anyone else around, so you must have made the food by yourself, too.  
You knelt down in front of him and carefully removed the bandaging, then gently lay your hand on the skin above the largest wound. You had the power to hurt him, to open his wound further or to press harshly on it out of revenge for the intimidation and near-insults; but you didn't. 

“You don't feel nauseous, or a strange tingling sensation in any part of your body? Are you feeling particularly tired?” You gingerly washed the dried blood off of his abdomen as you talked.

He knew the symptoms you were listing. He had experienced them often enough. 

“The blade wasn't poisoned.”

You glanced up, eyes switching between his as if you were the one trying to figure out his thoughts this time. “Good.” 

But when you pressed your other hand to his flesh, too, and started to heal him he took hold of your wrist; yet softer than the first time. His own gentleness surprised him and he made sure not to let it sound through into his voice. 

“Spare your energy.” 

He didn't think you had much left, anyway. The wound would heal fine on its own. 

Your confusion was palpable but you did as you were told and started on the next task; applying a salve while he continued on his breakfast. When the moment came you needed to wrap fresh bandaging around his abdomen, however, he noticed your reluctance – and he took his chance with a smirk. 

“Afraid to come any closer?” 

“Do you want me to come closer that badly?” 

Oh you were quick, quick and witty. You even shot him a mischievous smirk in return.  
Surprise and amusement fought for dominance in his heart, and he was lost for words. 

“All done, now rest at least for another day before you can even think about riding a horse again.” 

The bandaging had been fixed and his stomach had been filled, so there was nothing left to gain in this kitchen. That did not mean he was simply letting you or whatever secrets you may hold go, however. He strode out of the kitchen but lingered around the corner. Overworking yourself seemed to be one of your primary flaws and so it was no surprise when you took yet another task on your shoulders. He casually moved to the slightly open window, grabbed a book of the shelf and sat down on the window seat while pretending to read – yet his true attention lay with you, on the other side of the glass.  
He listened to your conversation with the other villager and concluded that he was either your friend or lover, or perhaps even both; and when the conversation turned to the horses he couldn't help but spy on the two of you from the corner of his eye. 

“So who are they? They've got some fancy beasts.” 

“Audun-”

“It's fine. Who's a pretty horse? Who's a pretty horse?”

Loki grinned when Egil neighed and tried to break loose.

“All right, not so fancy a beast, then.”

He could hear your sigh.

“Do me a favor and check the brown horses at the back for any injuries, I'll take care of this one. Don't get yourself kicked in the stomach.”

“You sure you want to do this one? You could get badly injured.”

“Not if you don't approach it like an idiot.”

The book in his lap was forgotten as he studied you. You inspected Vænn, then moved on to Egil. Even some of Thor's soldiers went to stand by the other window to see how you would do. They all expected you to fail, as did he himself, but some feeling in his gut made him keep his eyes on you, made anticipation and dread twirl inside of him. There was no way his horse, his friend who tolerated barely anyone else, would accept another to come close... Was there? 

“I am going to check for injuries, if you will allow me to, so I can heal them. I will untie the rope, but I need you to stand still. Will you let me step closer?” 

Loki almost held his breath as he watched, and when Egil lowered his head for you – for _you_ , a random girl from a filthy village in the middle of nowhere! - he nearly let out an insulted scoff; if he hadn't been so shocked. He watched with cold awe how Egil allowed you to check him for injuries, to _pet_ him, to _stroke his neck_. Was this part of your unfamiliar power? Where had you learned it, or where had you even gotten it? Having his magic flow through the village for a few minutes had been enough to establish that there was no one else who had the Gift – not even your parents. As far as he knew magic was mostly genetic and only sometimes a child of non-Gifted parents was born with the ability, but that was so rare that some even considered it a myth. He refused to believe that your magic had nothing to do with Egil's acceptance. 

While still trying to grasp why his loyal steed had betrayed him a loud sound shook him from his thoughts, and their voices reached his ears once more.

“Who will speak for the dragon, then? No one dares to go up there but you, and I bet you're the only one who can understand it.” 

“Someone else will have to gather their courage and talk to it. I will only be gone for two or three months, maybe four, surely you can survive for that long without talking to a creature that never shows itself.” Another sigh from your lips. “I will go tell it of my departure, and ask of it to accept another orator until I've returned.” 

There was that dragon again – your father had mentioned it, too. His brows knit together ever so slightly. He believed dragons had truly existed, yet he did not think there were any alive today. No matter which legend or tale you read or heard, the end of that specific species had come to pass a long, long time ago. Were you lying? Or was there truly one left, merely hidden from everyone else? Had it passed its powers onto you? Was such a thing even possible? He knew magic could not be transferred to someone who did not already possess the Gift, and he did not know whether this generation of dragon would have any magical energy left in their genes at all. 

“Then what about me?”

“...What do you mean?”

He turned his attention back to the two people outside the shop, right as your friend began to declare his love. 

“I love you. I've loved you for years-” He threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I've loved you! What am I to do when you don't come back? How am I to move on? How am I to continue my life like nothing happened, like the most important person in it hasn't just been taken away from me? If you were to stay for one reason, let it be me. Stay. Just for me.”

Ah, so they hadn't already been lovers. He rolled his eyes at the naivety of the boy. Saying something like that at a time like this would only hurt you, no matter whether you stayed or left. And Loki was right: he saw the tears form in your waterline, saw the confusion in your eyes. He almost felt sorry for you. Almost. 

"You don't love me back.” He huffed again. “You never loved me, did you? No.” A mirthless laugh. “No, you never did.” 

He watched the drama for another few moments before shifting his gaze back to the herbology book in his lap. Not his problem. He did hope this confession made you more inclined to come with them, though – he would have more time to study you, to try and find out what exactly made you so different. A puzzle that he wanted to solve, a way to kill his endless boredom. And who knew, perhaps it could even be fun with someone like you around to tease.


End file.
